PostScript
by Hollywoodx4
Summary: CH8: "For the first two weeks of his life, Charlie Lieberman would sleep through the night with no trouble. Her thoughts of having it easy were all false, it seems, for now he would hardly sleep at all. She yawns, her face matching his almost perfectly, and he follows suit before resuming his pitiful whimpering again." -compilation of Samigail/Abigail and Charlie oneshots.
1. First Day

Postscript: First Day

He clutched onto her dainty hand, his soft, tiny one only large enough to wrap around her thumb. On his other hand, his thumb rested in his mouth and Abigail scolded him for it, although she couldn't help but marvel at how cute it actually was. When scolded, Charlie dropped his thumb, giggling and moving his treasured stuffed koala into his now free hand.

He was dressed in a polo shirt and checkered pants, dressed up a bit more than usual for his first day. His hair had been tediously combed; a hard task for Abigail, who had held him down that morning. Her work was in vain, however, because now his hair stuck up on all ends. She did not try to fix it, figuring that the effort would be too much to let him squirm around before messing it up once more.

He shuffled quickly to match his mother's grown-up steps, occasionally glancing up at her to gauge her reaction about where they were headed. She was reserved, and even 20-month-old Charlie could tell. There was something she wasn't saying but he ignored it, not completely understanding his mother's actions.

They walked into a reception hall and were met with bright colors over a white wall, painted in the shapes of rainbows and colorful circus animals. Charlie's hazel eyes widened, and he took in his scenery with complete wonderment. On the wall, there was a window from which an older woman poked her head. She had been sitting at a desk, it seemed, and was taking note of who came and left the building. She greeted the mother and son and smiled down at Charlie before returning her gaze to Abigail, equally happy to see her.

"And how is our Charlie doing today?" She crooned. He stared up at her, his thumb finding its way back into his mouth. Abigail didn't have the heart to remove it again.

"He seems fine, just a bit unsure. Or maybe it's just translating from me, I don't know." She laughed nervously, moving to sign Charlie in on the sheet left at reception.

"He'll be fine, Abigail. He's a brilliant boy."

"He gets that from his father." She smiled fondly and moved down a hallway on their right. It was filled with strollers and crying babies, of unwilling parents giving their last goodbyes as they walked unsteadily back down the hall. Abigail gripped Charlie's hand tighter and led him to a door just like all the others. When it opened, it revealed that there was just as much chaos in this room as the many others they'd passed.

A woman's voice called Charlie's name and he smiled, unsure demeanor quickly fading away. She hugged Abigail tightly, reassuringly.

"Alright, Char, mum will be right down the hall with the babies. I'll pick you up after nap time, ok? You-" He was gone, toddling over to a boy with shiny blonde hair, who was playing with a row of toy cars. Abigail sighed. "Char! Come give mummy a hug and a kiss!"

He giggled in response, running back over to her and collapsing into her arms. This only lasted a brief moment, however, and soon he was gone once more. She frowned. Sheila put her hand on Abigail's shoulder, making a face of pity. Having had two kids, she knew the feeling all too well.

"All of a sudden it's like he's a little man, isn't it?" Abigail nodded in agreement, trying to hold back tears. Her eyes felt misty, as if she were stuck in a crowd of fog.

"He's so grown up now. 29 months before today, I was learning what I thought was the worst news I'd heard. I was sitting in a bathroom stall just crying, not knowing what to do. Nine months from there I was introduced to the most beautiful baby…and now he's so big…" She watched Charlie as he played with his new friend, adoring his light tenor voice as he giggled, making the car go up a pretend hill.

"He'll be fine, Abigail." Sheila promised, leading her slowly to the door. "Go enjoy your first day of work, he'll be so happy to see you when you come back. The day will fly by, don't worry."

Abigail closed the classroom door behind her, joining the now diminishing crowd of parents. She glanced one more time into the classroom and smiled softly. He'd be fine.


	2. Linger

For FFNet

Linger

It was her old habit, visiting the dance studio. Now that Kat was out of the Academy, though, she never had much of an excuse. The perky blonde did one show with the company and was done, claiming that her soul was 'being ripped out of her body before her very eyes.' Abigail figured that much would happen; the last thing Kat Karamakov wanted to be was a duplicate of her mother, and by accepting the offer from the company she realized she'd started down that exact track.

She visited for the first time in three years, toting Charlie by his hand. They were off to see Kat, who now taught at the Academy. It wasn't her first choice job, she'd said reluctantly, but it was turning out better than she'd thought. She worked with the first years, helped them get out of their shells a bit more and get used to life at the academy. She was a good teacher, Abigail thought, because she didn't allow the students to feel bad about themselves the way she'd been allowed to her two years there. The younger generation of ballerinas would be getting guidance, not punishment.

She entered the studio quietly, in hopes that she would not be interrupting the class. She found soon, however, that the studio was already silent. Abigail opened her text messages and looked at the time, wondering if Kat had given her the wrong time. She sighed and looked around for a piece of paper, hoping to write her a note before leaving. Charlie had left her side, wandering around the studio in awe. For the three year-old, it was daunting to be in such a place of prestige. He walked slowly, his head upturned as he gaped at the high mirrors, the lights in the ceiling. Although Abigail would admit that the studio she'd trained in wasn't all that professional, Charlie still thought it was amazing.

"Mummy, is this the place from all of those videos you like to watch?" He asked, reaching his hand up to rest it on the ballet barre. She smiled softly, letting herself finally get wrapped up in the scenery around her. This was one of the first year studios. No, this was _the _first year studio, the one she'd first begun to study pas de deux in. She took a deep breath, letting the realization sink in.

"Yeah, it is. Char, would you look in my bag for some paper? I want to leave auntie Kat a note."

"But you said she was coming!" He pouted, marching to Abigail's bag and beginning to rummage through it. Before she could form her response she heard a chuckle, and glanced in the direction of the studio door.

"Can't stay away from the studio, Abigail?" She rolled her eyes and sauntered over to the man, arms folded over her chest. "I have paper for you, if you need it."

"Just here to visit your sister, Karamakov. Dance and I don't have the best relationship and now that I have somebody to live for, there's no way I'm going back. Not for a while, anyway." She was lost in thought for just a moment, and then looked over to her son. "Charlie, come say hello to your uncle Ethan please."

He practically skipped over, tearing his eyes from the barre long enough to see the tall, lean male talking to his mother. He was dressed in black and white, an outfit he recognized from the pictures hung in their house and some of the other men his mother and aunt hung out with. He grinned and ran around Ethan before stopping in front of him, craning his neck to look up at him.

"I'm Charlie Lieberman and I'm three years old." He held out his hand and Ethan took it, laughing slightly before shaking his head at Abigail. "Mummy, can I play?"

"Go ahead, Charlie. I'm going to talk to uncle Ethan for a while and then we'll head out, alright?" He nodded before running back to the barre, and although he was too tiny to reach he pretended that he could, letting the tips of his tiny fingers touch the wooden structure while attempting to mimic what he'd seen.

"Charlie…it's a cute name."

"Thanks."

"Lieberman too."

"For Sammy…" It was an awkward back-and –forth, Abigail shuffling her feet as she watched Charlie play. Ethan watched her. She hadn't changed much from the moment he'd last seen her, although her stomach was flat once again due to the fact that she obviously was no longer pregnant. Other than that, she still resembled the spitfire he'd admired so highly when he was in school. And suddenly, everything he'd felt for her in the years before came back, and Ethan was once again trapped by her.

"I hope you're doing well, Ethan. It was nice seeing you again." She gathered her bag from the floor and gestured to Charlie. He sighed, pouting a bit before moving to his mother's side once more. Ethan wanted to pout, wanted to ask her to stay, but she had a son now, everything was different. Instead he smiled down at Charlie, ruffling his hair.

"We'll have to catch up some time then, get acquainted." He smiled and she laughed a light laugh he hadn't realized he'd missed. She left and he felt a pang rise to his chest.


	3. Mess

Mess

_Takes place toward the beginning of Sammy and Abigail's relationship..._

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, one which meant that classes would not be held and students at the Academy were permitted to do whatever they pleased. Most had left early in the morning, dedicated to the promise of getting a good spot on the beach. Some took the early bus into the city, but most insisted on walking. When the sun began to rise over the horizon, its first few rays danced beautifully over the sparkling water, finally naturally illuminating the student's paths.

Most were up and out of their rooms before this moment, however, too used to their rigorous weekly schedules to sleep in late. They chatted to each other loudly, not even remotely worried about waking sleeping students. This was too nice of a day to waste on sleeping.

By 9am, the academy was eerily empty. The last few students walked around outside, getting breakfast or waiting to meet their friends and head out. Abigail breathed a sigh of relief when coming back from her morning run. The hallways were blissfully quiet. Today, she would not be disturbed. Today, she could get things done without being bothered.

She glanced around her shared room, eyes roaming its every surface as she took in a deep breath. Clothes spilled out of their wardrobes and onto the floor, left askew from the morning rush. Tara's bed was unmade but hers remained tidy, each pillow carefully propped against her headboard. Their dance bags both lay open at the bases of their beds, strings and sewing needles and extra band-aids spilling out onto the floor. Hair-care products and soaps were haphazardly strewn across the desk they used as a vanity so that it was unclear as to what color the desk was.

Abigail felt dizzy even looking at the mess. She moved to prop the door open and began to clean, putting the radio on low volume to keep herself on task. This mess would not be allowed to remain any longer.

As she worked she began to feel the harshness of her muscles soften, felt the pain in her head dissipate with each item she put back in its proper place. Finally, she was back in control.

Sammy woke to the sun warming his face, its light playfully dancing around his sleeping eyelids. He groaned and rolled over, yawning as he checked his clock. It was 10:30, but he had nothing to do anyway. Sleeping in was alright on these occasions, and greatly welcomed. He dressed at his own leisure and ate while walking by the water around campus, enjoying its serenity. It felt strange, having everybody gone. Although he was taken aback by the absence of dancers, it felt nice.

He ended his journey in the dorms, wishing to assess just how many people had gone away for the day. Most doors were closed, but as he moved down another corridor on the second floor white noise began to float to his ears. He made a face of question to himself, quickening his pace while scanning the doors to see who was still there. The white noise soon faded into a familiar pop song, and just as he came across the culprit room he felt a large, cloth-like object hit his side, draping over his head. Sammy made a noise of shock, pulling the blanket off of himself and staring into the room it had come from without surprise. Abigail.

He watched her for some time as she continued to fling objects around the room. There was a sense of authority in her actions, as though she were trying to rule the blankets she was reorganizing. She sang along to the song on the radio in a soft yet pretty voice. This was the only action he'd seen her do without purpose, singing, and it was a nice change from her vindictive rule over the inanimate objects she was tossing. He cleared his throat.

"Still here? I thought you'd have joined the others at the beach by now." She grinned at his sarcasm, pausing in her work to shake her head at him.

"You caught me, I was just about to head out now." He chuckled, moving to sit on a spare chair on her side of the room. "No, I figured today would be the perfect day to clean this mess, get it done while everyone else is wasting their day on frivolous nonsense."

Sammy shook his head at her reply but said no more. He knew that arguing with Abigail on such an issue would be a waste of their time.

"Is that why you threw this blanket from the room like you were its dictator?" He held the aforementioned object in front of him and she took it slowly and guiltily, shooting him an apologetic look.

"I…like control." She finished folding the blanket and put it aside, perching herself on her bed across from him. "This is one of the few things I can have full control over. It makes me feel like something's in order even if everything's in chaos." Her voice became softer, as if she were ashamed by this fact. It was no surprise that she liked control, however. She controlled her dancing by intense practice and her weight by constant exercise. She was born and bred on a life of control, and now it seemed as though there was no way of stopping her habits.

"Is that why you were avoiding me after class on Friday?"

Caught. He was staring at her now, but it was not in a menacing way. He was not trying to frame her, nor trying to make her feel guilty for what she had done. In his eyes all she could see was curiosity, wonderment as to what he could have possibly done to make his own girlfriend-well, they weren't labeled _yet- _avoid him.

"Sammy…" His name came out as a sort of sigh, and she put her face in her hands for a moment, letting her elbows rest on her knees as she thought. "I'm not ashamed of you, if that's what you're thinking."

"It's…sort of what I've been feeling."

"It's not that, not at all. It's just…I need this control, this sense that I have everything under wraps. When I dance with you, that feeling leaves. For a while it feels good, you know? I just forget everything and let the dancing take over, and it feels like we should have started dancing together a long time ago." She speaks slowly, as if the task of choosing her words is meticulous and burdensome. For once, she is trying hard not to hurt somebody's feelings. She continues.

"But then we stop, and class is over, and suddenly the memory of everything I was meant to be controlling comes flooding back and I get scared, Sammy I get scared. I don't like not knowing what's going to come next, whether it's good or bad. Being with you…my subconscious sort of does things before my mind can comprehend it, and then I feel guilty for letting my control go. It's not you, it'll never be you. It's the way you make me feel that has me avoiding you."

He nodded as Abigail talked, and as she got father into her rambling it seemed as though the beginnings of tears were pooling in her eyes, clouding the deep brown he was beginning to fall in love with. He reached over for her hand and at first she withdrew, the reflexes of her mind acting before she could realize how it might make him feel. Sammy was strong, however. He was willing to be patient with her and so he held his hand out again, making it _her _choice whether or not she wanted to grab hold.

"Nobody's around campus anymore, if that helps you." She had hold of his hand before he could say this and he smiled softly. She didn't need the reassurance he was offering that time. She was mollifying to him. She simply shook her head in response, removing her hand from his so that she could wipe away the pool that hadn't surfaced onto her cheeks yet. Abigail let the corners of her lips turn slightly and moved her hand to his cheek, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. To an outsider, it would seem like a simple action. For Abigail, it was a large step in letting her control go. He kissed her back but then pulled away, lightly reluctant.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. I believe you."

"I wanted to." It was her turn to send him reassurance, and she watched as he released some of the nerves he had been holding. They sat for a while in comfortable silence and then Abigail stood up again, returning to the stack of blankets she'd been folding. She plucked the top one from the pile and began to fold, losing herself in the gloriously simple task.

"Can I help you with that?" Sammy's eyes were hopeful but he hadn't moved from his chair yet, using caution. She stared back at him for a moment and he noticed her hands tighten slightly around the cotton she was holding. He figured his efforts were a waste, but then Abigail relaxed her grip and handed the blanket to him.

"Just fold the two corners together, and-"

"-Abigail, I know how to-" She shot him a dark look, and laced within that gaze was a sliver of pleading. He moved to hold the blanket so that he was mirroring her and she grinned. Together, Sammy and Abigail navigated through the pile of blankets in only a short time, and as she switched tasks she asked him to join her. With Sammy, it was easier to release her reigns. It still hurt, and she continued to monitor him to make sure he was doing things her way, but she let him help. Abigail was not cleaning by herself, but getting aid. She was not panicking, which felt miraculous.

Sammy held what seemed like an endless supply of patience when it came to Abigail. When she directed him to do something differently he did not groan, nor did he push the issue. He listened to her because he knew how hard it was for her to let him help, and to Sammy the effort was enough. When they finished he turned to her, clasping his hands together.

"So, do you want to hang out now? We can go sit on the grass and talk, watch a movie…anything you want." She bit her bottom lip, unsure of how to answer. Her mind was telling her to get away, to find something else to clean...her old dance tapes remained unwatched, and she really should catch up on the refinement of her skills. She liked to think of excuses. On the other hand, her heart was making concessions. He'd just spent his morning helping her clean her entire room, she owed him. Besides, he'd offered to let her pick what they did…

"Oh, alright." She sighed playfully, moving to find a pair of sunglasses. They left her room together and suddenly, Sammy felt another hand brush against his before the hand gently interlaced their fingers. He turned to Abigail and she simply smiled. _One step at a time. _"Let's go for a walk."


	4. Diagnosis

Diagnosis

Abigail was worried. She was more than worried; she was in full panic mode. It was twelve o'clock at night, and Charlie had woke her up once again. He'd just begun to sleep through the night, and she was beginning to become accustomed to sleeping the full eight hours she needed. This night, however, threw her off.

She heard his tiny cries as they were incorporated into her dream, which had been about visiting a zoo. In her dream she and a former peer were looking through glass at the gorilla exhibit, and all was well until the largest gorilla opened its mouth. From its large stature came the littlest, most pitiful cry she'd heard, eerily familiar. The other student she was with ignored it, but to Abigail the noise grew louder until suddenly her eyes were open. She rubbed them and shuffled from bed, making her way slowly to the nursery.

Abigail leaned over his bassinette and scooped Charlie up, cradling him in her arms while trying her best to soothe him. His cry stifled and he coughed a bit as her eyes widened; She held him closer. When his bout of coughing ended he looked up at her with sad hazel eyes, his lower lip jutting out a bit. She felt sympathy prickle her and shifted him so that she had a free hand, moving to Kat's room.

She called her roommate's name as she attempted to prod her awake, and as more time passed and Kat wasn't awake, Abigail's attempts became more aggressive. Finally, she violently shook the blonde and she arose, groaning.

"What do you want?" She mumbled, rubbing her eyes. Abigail rocked Charlie, shifting back and forth on her feet to calm him.

"Charlie just woke up with a bad cough, I don't know what's wrong."

"Ab, he probably just has a cold. The weather's changing again…"

"I'm taking him to the hospital." Kat shook her head, making an incredulous noise.

"Again? Abigail, he's fine." She followed Abigail out of the room, gathering a few things to take on their journey. Although she didn't agree with her friend's methods she followed orders as the brunette called out things they would need, and when they were finally ready she was along for the ride.

"You're lucky I'm such a good friend, Armstrong."

"Don't talk, I'm concentrating." So they drove in silence, only the white noise of the radio and Charlie's few coughing fits interrupting it. With each fit Abigail drove faster, and when she was twenty over the speed limit Kat put her hand on her shoulder.

"Calm down, speed demon. Char will be fine."

"But what if he's not?" Her voice was raised now, and she struggled to keep herself in check as they pulled up to the hospital. "What if we can't save him in time? Then what? He's the last piece of Sammy I have, Kat."

Kat became quiet, not wanting to press the issue farther. Instead she carried the majority of their things and followed behind a rushing Abigial, who seemed desperate to get into emergency. The waiting room was desolate, and they were processed and in a room within ten minutes.

Abigail watched with bated breath as the doctor examined her baby, stretching up and down on her toes to calm her nerves. He was very thorough, though, and she could tell that he was trying to check every possible thing that could be wrong.

"What seems to be the problem again, Miss Armstrong?" The doctor said, removing his stethoscope from his ears and turning to face her. She stood next to Charlie now, letting him wrap his fingers around her thumb.

"He woke crying and then just started coughing. He's been sleeping through the night and this is the first time he's woken in a long time, I think the coughing woke him up. I needed to make sure everything was alright."

"Well, everything checks out. It seems as though he just caught a bit of a cold." She breathed a sigh of relief and held Charlie now, smiling to herself. She glanced at Kat but her roommate said nothing; there was no need for 'I told you so' in such a situation.

She'd been worried about Charlie because of Sammy, Kat knew that. Somehow, Abigail seemed to have connected Charlie's cough with Sammy's accident, thinking that she could have saved Sammy the way she was going to save Charlie. She didn't want to lose the most important man in her life, not so soon after her first important left her.

Her son coughed again and she started, turning back to the doctor. He merely winked at her, waving her from the room.

"He'll be fine," He reassured, watching the group walk back down the hallway.


	5. First Impressions

First Impressions

He sat in his math class, bored and awaiting the first lesson of the school year to begin. He'd arrived a bit earlier than intended, but was benefitted by the ability to pick any of the seats in the class. He chose one in the center of the cluster of desks, where he knew he'd be safe from being labeled on his first day. As more and more people filed in he tapped his pencil on the desk, noticing that most of his peers shared the same tired expression-math was nobody's favorite subject.

She came in a bit after the class had started, looking flustered and yet somehow confident. Sammy watched as she explained her situation to their teacher and then was pointed to the only desk available-one diagonally ahead of his. His eyes shot back down to his paper to hide the fact that he'd been staring, but felt his face flush scarlet.

Sammy never found out the girl's name on that first day; his teacher was not one for name games, much to his avail. He continued to watch her, however, stealing sidelong glances at her between lines of algebra notes. She often bit her lip in concentration, and he noticed that she was almost always in a different realm of thought than the rest of the class.

On Tuesday of their fourth week of class, she became more than just beautiful nameless face. She raised her hand to ask a question, and the name Abigail floated to his ears. Abigail…it suited her. On their fifth week of class, she asked him to borrow a pencil. Without hesitation he gave her the one straight from his own hand.

He used pen the rest of class.

He ended up walking next to her from class on the seventh week, and it took him a reasonably ridiculous amount of time to even say 'hello.' Normally friendly and outgoing, this was a new sensation to Sammy. This new girl, dressed simply in tight-fitting leggings and a t-shirt, undoubtedly had him close to starstruck.

She said hello back to him simply, and he hid his grin.

"So…" He began, moving his hands to the straps of his backpack. "What do you think of that class?"

"The truth?" Abigail asked. He nodded almost eagerly. "I hate math, and why should those of us who are going to be company dancers even have to bother with it?"

Not knowing what else to say Sammy simply chuckled at her and held out his hand, smiling in a welcoming manner.

"I'm Sammy." She gave him a sort of half-grin, almost fake in manner, and refused his hand in what he would later learn was true Abigail Armstrong fashion. She didn't need anybody, he'd learned, she was _vastly _independent.

"Abigail." She replied. Before he had a chance to discuss class further she was gone, and Sammy was left looking after her in a sort of startled silence.

Little did he know that he was looking after the girl who would become his first love.


	6. Better

Untitled

Abigail was in a rough place; she knew it, her mother knew it (although she did not like to reveal that her 'perfect' daughter was having such issues), hell, the entirety of first year watched as she hit rock bottom the day of pas de deux finals.

So much for scholarships now.

She watched classic movies, the old black-and-white ones that nobody seemed to care much about. She felt a lot like those movies these days; old, tired, everybody just waiting for the moment she would retire. She was only sixteen and already she felt like the biggest joke in Academy history. Abigail had given into herself, _she _was the largest cause of her own disease.

It was a wicked thing, anorexia, because there was no cure. She could not take pills, none were available. The kicker, completely ironic to the beautiful brunette, was that she had given herself the disease, in a way. She always claimed to be strong, invincible to what others said and thought about her. Perhaps that was true. In this wicked game of life, Abigail Armstrong was her only enemy.

"Abigail," Her mother chided as they sat at the dinner table. Paige, her younger sister, had long since gone upstairs, dinner having been finished. Her mother's plate was empty as well, and Abigail suddenly felt her harsh, judging eyes on her. "Your legs."

It was a trick she'd been doing for months, as her need to be thinner, better, intensified. If she bounced her legs underneath the table, she figured, she could burn calories as she ate. It was perfect, as she would be pleasing her mother and continuing to look perfectly fine. If the food was too much, too fatty or sweet…she'd refuse it. If her right of refusal was denied, she'd suck the food down in distaste. There was always the sweet porcelain toilet in her bathroom, her final resort. For Abigail, there was always an answer; always a way to stay ahead.

She paused in bouncing her legs long enough for her mother to quit staring, and then began again. She was addicted to being flawless.

"Abigail Althea," She cringed at her middle name. Busted. "You still have one more bite."

"_Mum,_" She groaned, pushing her plate away. "I'm not hungry."

"_Abigail, _it's not an option." The plate was pushed back in her direction and she simply stared at it, then back at her mother. She crossed her arms. Her mind was going crazy. She would not eat the food, who knows what it truly contained, what it would do to her figure? Somewhere, deep down, she felt her stomach plead for the last morsel. Her mind cancelled out its signals, however, and she would not do it.

"One bite won't kill you."

"You don't get it."

"Oh, stop being so dramatic and-"

"-You think I _want _this? You think being messed up is just some game I play? Well, it's a pretty sick game, mum. Glad to see that you have so much faith in me." Abigail closed her eyes, scooping the last bit of mashed potatoes into her mouth. She held back a cringe; the food felt vile as it slithered menacingly down her throat. She pushed her chair back from the table with force and stood, clearing her plate.

"Are you happy now?"

In her room that night, Abigail emptied the contents of her stomach and brushed her teeth, sighing as she changed to her pajamas. She put tension in her face to push back tears; she was stronger than that.

It was the worst spell of vomiting she'd ever experienced.

She felt awful, not only in her mental state but her physical one as well. All she wanted to do was rest, lie in bed and never get up. In her dreams, she would not have to deal with this mental battle any longer.

She heard the phone ring on occasion, but did not pay attention to conversation. She heard her mother come and go from work, Paige from school. She no longer journeyed downstairs for meals, but had them delivered to her. When her mother was not home she often tried cardio up and down the stairs, but found most that she could not handle even a simple staircase.

After the first week, she gave up. She was tired of being tired, tired of being sick. She wanted so badly to be released from the hell she'd found herself in but could not allow herself to fully release her reigns. She began to eat more, little by little. To an outsider it would not seem like a lot, but ignoring her screaming mind on occasion filled Abigail with both immense bliss and a slight hint of terror.

At the end of her second week, after a day of doing coursework in attempts to catch up with her peers, she heard what sounded like a terrible rainstorm brewing outside. Occasionally, the wind would blow and a large smattering of raindrops would pelt her window, and then the noise would stop. Abigail rose from bed, pausing the movie she'd been watching to view the storm.

He stood with his hands at his sides, giving her a sheepish grin. She simply stared back at him, and then he made a motion with his arms. She did not understand but left her window open, scooting back just enough so that she could see him. The window was still open and soon he was there, climbing through it. She shook her head and moved back to her bed, sitting down and starting the movie again. He followed her, looking around her room. For a while Sammy just stood, as if he were waiting for some sort of cue. He saw the television and it caught his attention, and she suddenly felt an extra weight next to herself.

"You don't have to…"

"This is a good movie," he interrupted her, his arm finding its way around her.

He didn't mention that he could feel every curve in her spine. He didn't mention how gaunt her face was. She was beautiful still, yes, but in a haunting sort of way. She was not well, but he knew that saying something about it would not let her know that he cared, but make her put her walls up again. Instead he sat, shifting himself in his seat so that he could pull her closer to him.

He stayed through the night without asking or being asked, and somehow she did not mind it. After the movie ended he asked her what else she wanted to watch, if he could get her anything. Usually, she hated when people made being sick into a disability, told them that she could do everything by herself. On this night she was suddenly very tired and unusually content, and before she knew it she was asking if he had brought any sort of food with him. He paused for a moment while putting in another DVD and looked back at her, then thought for a moment.

"What type of food do you want?" He asked, stepping toward her. Abigail saw a slight spark in his eyes, something she couldn't quite place. She thought it looked like pride. She smiled and felt her stomach grumble, but let it. She wouldn't ignore it this time.

"Anything." He was grinning now, moving back toward her window. He opened it and began to climb out but stopped, holding up one finger.

"I'll be right back, I promise. Leave the window open for me?" She nodded and snuggled further into her blanket, turning her attention back to the TV. She didn't know if he would be back, was not used to being treated so kindly. Thinking back she'd yelled at Sammy before her incident, tried everything in her power to get him to leave her alone. Now, she couldn't wait for him to come back. Now, she trusted him to come back. Why he continued to treat her the opposite of how she'd been treating him she did not know, but she liked the feeling.

He came back later with a Tupperware container and a tube, throwing both through the window before going through himself. She smiled at him from her place in bed and moved to help him but he declined her offer of help, shaking his head and motioning at her to stay where she was. He opened the Tupperware container and shrugged sheepishly, placing it before her.

"I thought we'd start simple, work our way up. These are just apples with cinnamon on them, mum always used to make them for me growing up. However," He placed the tube on the bed next to her and she reached for it, popping it open and looking inside. She stared at him and his eyes widened. "I mean, you wouldn't have to eat that-or anything, really, but it's one of _my _favorite things ever."

Abigail picked a piece of cookie dough from the tube, shaking her head at him.

"And how do you expect to cook this without my mum seeing you? She wouldn't exactly be peachy with my having a visitor late at night." He laughed, taking the tube from her and popping a piece of the dough in his mouth.

"I don't expect to cook it, that's the best part." She giggled in spite of herself.

"You're insufferable, Lieberman." She joked, patting the place on her bed next to her so that he would join her. He sat, still holding the tube, and watched as Abigail popped the first apple into her mouth. Her eyes widened and she nodded in appreciation, reaching for another one. This food didn't feel vile going down, it felt…nice. The empty pit in her stomach seemed to agree with her. Sammy didn't say anything, not wanting to make it a big deal. He put his arm back around her and continued to watch the movie, grinning to himself as he listened to Abigail's silent munching.

This meeting soon became routine, Sammy climbing through her window with treats for the two of them. He always had some new food for Abigail to try, but he nearly always had cookie dough for himself. She wondered how he could eat it every night, how something could be that tasty that he was not yet tired of it. She often requested the delicacy of his cinnamon apples, but sometimes he would surprise her with something she thought was even better.

When he was not there, during the day, he'd leave her extra food just in case she didn't want anything in her house. He didn't know if she'd eat it initially; actually, he was so sure that she would not that when he came back the next night to an empty container he was grinning from ear to ear. He couldn't explain why he was so concerned about her, why he cared only for her health and well-being while he was supposed to be dancing for school. He only knew that the end of a long day couldn't come fast enough.

They weren't watching a movie that night, but playing old card games sitting cross-legged on her floor. He'd been the one suggesting the idea, pulling the pack of cards from his pocket and smirking. They were two hours into their games when she reached over to the usual tube of cookie dough he'd brought and took a piece off of it, popping it into her mouth. She returned her attention to the cards but this time, he was unable to keep his focus on them. He grinned at her, saying nothing. When she noticed him staring she looked up, her eyes meeting his. She smiled back, taking another little bite from the dough. She was getting better.


	7. Attempt

**(the carrot thing was inspired by the movie No Strings Attached, just so you're aware. My sister and I thought that Sammy would do something like it, and this erupted from that thought).**

Attempt

Sammy would be lying if he said he wasn't anxious; his hands were clammy, his mind racing, and he could not stop walking aimlessly around his room. He fiddled with the sheets of his bed, cleaned off his desk, and twiddled his thumbs. It was a good thing that Christian was not there, he noted, because he didn't need to be teased in that moment. There was already enough on his mind.

It was early evening, and outside he could just see the beginnings of the sunset creeping along. He'd done everything he needed, but checking his watch he realized that he was still too early to leave. Sammy sat and ran his hands through his hair again. He was trying desperately not to let the nerves get to him.

He and Abigail had (finally) gone public a week before, and he'd asked her for what seemed like the hundredth time to take her on a proper date. She 'didn't do feelings,' sp he was genuinely surprised when she'd agreed. Overall, he noticed that she'd been surprising him a lot lately.

He left earlier to give himself time to walk to her room and still showed up early. Not knowing what to do he stood silently next to her door, not wanting to seem too eager. He waited impatiently for his watch to strike 5:30.

He knocked on her door at 5:28.

Abigail opened the door and he tried not to stare. He'd told her to wear something dressy yet casual, and while he felt strange in his khakis and button-down shirt she brilliantly fit his description for the evening. Her dress was a soft pink, bringing out the natural blush in her cheeks as well as the added color that appeared upon seeing him. She wasn't completely overdone, she was simply Abigail. This was the way he loved her most.

"Are you ready?" She asked teasingly, and he realized that perhaps he had been staring after all. He sputters, pulling his hand from behind his back.

"These are for you."

"…carrots?" Abigail quirks her eyebrow at him in question, wondering how he'd been managing to carry them as a bouquet.

"Yeah," He rubs the back of his neck with his other hand, suddenly feeling his nerves intensify even further. "They reminded me of you because they were healthy."

"Flowers would have been nice…" She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes at the carrots. Sammy puts his head in his hand.

"I'm sorry, I should have thought about that."

She shakes her head and lets a soft smile appear on her face, making her display the tiny, barely there dimple he admires so much. She takes hold of his hand, pulling the carrots from his other.

"Lieberman…you're such a dork."

He grins back at her, relieved, and the two make their way down the hall hand in hand, Abigail still clutching the carrots. He seemed to remember her love for the vegetable. Such a small detail, she marveled, and yet Sammy knew it well.

They arrive at a small restaurant right on the harbor, and when they're seated he pulls her chair out for her. The evil side of her, the defensive brick wall of a conscience, thinks up a snide remark. Before it can be voiced, however, she feels herself giving him a warm smile before pecking his cheek and thanking him. He sits down across from her, fumbling with the buttons of his jacket. She giggles in spite of herself, a foreign sort of noise.

"Nervous?" She asks playfully, watching him from across the table. He scoffs, finally managing to unhook the last button.

"Me? No, never."

"I am too." She hadn't meant to say this; it made her seem vulnerable, weak. She could not hear the bees, her normal nerve indicator, but that was when she danced, a painful kind of nervous. Maybe tonight, with Sammy, she'd found a good kind of nerves.

They talked while they are breadsticks, breaking the last one in two so that they could share it. Chatter continued while they ate their main course, although neither of the two could fully remember each individual piece of conversation they had. Their speech flitted naturally between topics, unguided even by the prompts Sammy had prepared the night before  
(his nerves had really gotten to him then). For some reason, it seemed, they just fit.

He paid for their meals and they left, fingers interlaced as they walked back to their dorms along the harbor. It wasn't a long walk, but was further off than they'd imagined. The sun was finished setting, and the stars tried hard to outshine the street lights and illuminated windows of the buildings they passed. Abigail swung their hands, carefree, and made sure that she was still clutching the carrots. Her gift had truly grown on her.

He began to slow his pace and she matched it, neither wanting the night to be over just yet. Sammy pointed out some of the brighter stars to Abigail and she listened to him explain things to her, always amazed by his broad array of knowledge. She liked it when he talked intelligently because it never felt like he was lecturing her, as many others did. She listened to the rise and fall of his inflected voice, soothed with her neck craned to view the stars with him.

When they arrived back to their dorms, he walked her to hers first. They stood outside of her door to say their last goodbyes, and as any great story goes he kissed her goodnight, hesitantly leaving so that he would not break curfew. Sammy was grinning, internally throwing himself a party. He'd been chasing after her all year, this was the summation of what he'd been waiting for and it was better than anything he'd ever imagined. Abigail stayed outside a bit longer, watching him retreat down the hallway before moving to her room with bliss in her heart and her gift in her hands.

Like their relationship, the gift quirky. She was expecting flowers, and got carrots. She'd never been expecting anybody, and then there Sammy was. She'd begun to think that he'd planned it all along, this strange gesture. She placed them on her desk, promising herself to get a vase (could she put carrots in a vase?) to display them before they were eaten. Tucked into her duvet and full of these blissful thoughts, the feeling of his kiss goodnight lingered on her lips. Abigail slept considerably better than she had in a long time.


	8. Fight

"Hello, is this Abigail Armstrong?" The phone rang while she was folding laundry, utilizing the hour she got daily for her lunch break. She answered on the third ring, having to leap over baskets she'd set all over their living room.

"Yes, this is she."

"I'm calling in regards to your son, Charlie. Is there a chance you could come down to the school?"

"Is everything alright?" She asked, already gathering her purse and abandoning the mess she'd made. Coat having been put on she got in the car, putting the phone on speaker so that she could talk while making her way to the school at the same time. "Is he hurt?"

"He's fine, but he's gotten into quite the little fight." Abigail's eyes widened at the concept, and she tried to picture her paper thin, always loving six year old in a fight. He was in kindergarten, for crying out loud. She didn't condone it when his uncle Christian play-fought with him, let alone her own son getting into a rift at school.

"Are you sure it was Charlie, Charlie Lieberman?"

"Oh, we're very sure. His teacher seemed very surprised too. Listen, we'll talk when you arrive at the school."

Abigail was horrified. It wasn't as if she were very angry with Charlie, just surprised. She'd never imagined that something of this kind would happen, that her own son would be involved in a fight. Maybe, she thought, she was blowing things out of proportion but now, how would his teacher look at him? Would he be the child nobody would want to play with? Most of all, though, she was disappointed in herself. Where did she go wrong to the point of her son getting into fights in school? As she entered the principal's office at Charlie's school she kept her head up, although it was clouded with thoughts surrounding how horrible she felt.

Charlie had a small bruise around his eye, and next to him another little boy sat looking just as miserable. The two looked even smaller with their 'battle wounds,' even more vulnerable than she thought Charlie to look. She sat next to her son, who merely looked up at her with pitiful, apologetic eyes. He didn't want to talk, and frankly neither did she. The other parent came in, and the first thing Abigail noticed that it was not a parent but _parents, _a mother and father looking to be in their early thirties, with another baby in tow. Abigail tried not to let it get to her. She'd always been self-conscious about being a single mother. The demon in her mind suggested, even, that this was one of the causes for Charlie's fight.

"I'll let the boys explain it," began the authoritive woman at the front desk. She was older than all in the room, with intimidating grays flaunting her experience. She reminded Abigail of Miss Raine, how terrifying she could be. "They seem to know exactly what went on."

Charlie did not speak until all eyes were on him, and then the tiny six year old realized that it was his turn to speak. His voice was quiet, guilty.

"I was sitting next to Beckham in school," he began, pointing to the other boy. The revelation of who this other mysterious child was shocked Abigail more than anything.

Beckham was a much talked about subject in their house, mainly because Charlie would not cease to bring him up. From what she gathered, he was her son's role model. The two played together in school constantly, always together, it seemed. He was recognizable now as the boy Charlie was with when she picked him up from school, the first to greet him in the morning as well. This boy, with his handsome tan skin and spiked-up hair, was Charlie's best friend.

"We were playing with the cars and they had a family. Mine only had a kid and a mommy and auntie, because that's like what I have at home. His had a mommy and daddy and _two _babies. He told me I needed more in my family and I said no because I love my mommy and we're fine how we are, but he said I needed a daddy. Then we were yelling at each other and he told me that my daddy died because he didn't want to have me." Charlie finished his account of the tale, turning slowly to his mother, who was listening while trying desperately to hold back tears. Her son, at age six, was defending Sammy. The truth was unreal to her. "That's not true, is it mum?"

"No, never." She reassured, smoothing over his hair. "Your father would have loved you very much." She pretended not to notice the couple beside her staring, then sharing a glance with each other. They were judging her, she could tell.

"Tell them what else you did, Charlie. That's not the entire story."

"I hit him first." Abigail shot him a stern look, and Beckham nodded to clarify that his statement was fact. She shook her head.

"Charlie, that's not an ok thing to do."

"I know, but"

"Listen to my words, please. You need to apologize to Beckham and give him a hug. It doesn't matter what he said, it's never ok to hit."

The matter was resolved with a tight hug, and the two left the room as if their riff had never happened. It amazed Abigail that such things could be patched over so easily in a child's relationship. On the way home, however, she knew that not all was resolved with Charlie.

"I didn't make daddy leave you, did I?" He asked, swinging his feet in his car seat and hanging his head. The matter was still bothering him, the things his friend said, although forgiven, hanging ruthlessly over his head.

"You didn't," She replied, keeping her voice level. She said it confidently, as she knew that Sammy would have never left them, even though she would have been stubborn enough to try and make him. He was just as stubborn when it came to her, though, and she knew that he would have fought tooth and nail just for Charlie's life. She would not tell her son that Sammy never got the chance to know that he was coming, for that seemed a minor detail in the larger picture; he would've been there.

"Charlie Isadore Lieberman, you listen to me." The name tugged at her heartstrings upon saying it. "You were named after someone brilliant, someone who would've never left me if he was given the choice. Your father loved you very much. He would have done anything to be here."

The thing was, Abigail was not lying. Although Sammy was not given the opportunity to know Charlie, to love him in the sense of his individual self, she was well-aware that Sammy adored the notion that they might have children some day. He talked to her about it on some of their casual dates, bringing the topic up like it was nothing. He rattled on plans, always involving her although at the beginning she was less than interested in having any sort of family with him. Later on she'd contribute little things, moments where she'd imagine what they could do as a unit. They could be normal, move somewhere quaint and have children, not having to worry about ballet and not being good enough. Later in their relationship, they even began to rattle off names that they liked. Charlie, she recounted, was one of the names that came up most frequently. She told him she hated it, but he wouldn't let it go. She remembered it every day of her pregnancy. Everything her son was could be credited to his father.

Now, she just had to teach him not to get into fights in kindergarten. What a life.


	9. Lullaby

A Lullaby

_(Set when Charlie is about three weeks old)_

It is dark; the only light comes from the moon shining through the window of the nursery. There is a small night light plugged into the wall, but she doesn't turn it on; the light seems to scare her son, and she wants him to sleep. Abigail knows that there is still laundry in piles on the bathroom floor, in front of the washer and waiting to be done. She is aware of the fact that the kitchen sink is filled with bottles she hasn't cleaned yet-that was meant to be done tomorrow, anyway. Her shiny brown tresses fall in messy strands around her face, and she is wearing a pair of Sammy's old sweatpants and a t-shirt too large for her. Altogether, she is a beautiful mess, it seems.

She sits and rocks in the chair next to Charlie's bassinette, holding him close in his tightly wrapped blanket. His mouth is open in an 'o' shape, and he is stuck between fits of crying and yawning. It frustrates her, these moments. For the first two weeks of his life, Charlie Lieberman would sleep through the night with no trouble. Her thoughts of having it easy were all false, it seems, for now he would hardly sleep at all. She yawns, her face matching his almost perfectly, and he follows suit before resuming his pitiful whimpering again. She sighs, moving a hand to push the disheveled strands of hair from her face. Not knowing what else to do, she begins to hum. At first the sound is light, and young Charlie has to strain his ears to hear the delicate, pretty sound. It's familiar, something he hasn't heard since he's come into this world. He pauses in crying, it seems, to listen more intently.

Abigail pauses, looking down at Charlie in a sort of astonishment. He is still whimpering, yes, but his shrieking has dissipated and no longer rings in her ears. When she stops his crying slowly crescendos, and she quickly begins again when she realizes it. Her humming turns to singing and he is completely soothed, curing himself closer to her chest and snuggling farther into his blanket. She looks down at him and smiles, still singing her soft lullaby. He looks too much like his father, she thinks, but it is a beautiful similarity, one that she will never be able to shake. A bit of wind blows through the cracked window of the nursery and Abigail shudders slightly, a chill running down her spine.

_"Hello you," Sammy announced himself as he entered her room and she jumped a bit, pausing in the task of painting her nails. He grinned. "Did I scare you?"_

_ "Not at all," She replies, continuing to paint. The radio is on low-volume, her windows cracked open while a slight breeze makes the curtains billow. It plays at her hair and she smiles a bit, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Sammy simply stands and watches her for a while, taking in the sight. Something, however, is missing._

_ "You've stopped singing," He remarks, finding an empty spot on the edge of her bed to sit._

_ "I don't sing in front of people regularly."_

_ "You sang in the musical"_

_ "That's different." She bends her head over her toes, making sure the lines of polish are perfect. In reality, she does not care too much about the polish. She is simply embarrassed._

_ "Well, we're not really in public," She looks up at him and rolls her eyes and he simply stares back. Maybe, he thinks, he's pushed the issue too far._

_ "I just don't like to."Her response is a bit curt, and he takes the hint that she might want to be alone. He ducks to kiss the cheek of her bent head and begins to back out of the room, pausing only to listen to her soft humming again._

_ "I really do love your voice, Abigail." The volume of his voice thins as he walks away, but she just manages to catch what she is saying. Her grin is girlish, but she hides it in her nail polish. His compliment never leaves her mind._

While rocking she closes her eyes, suddenly soothed by the calm of the moment. This is the first time he's slept the entire week. Soon she stops singing, too drowsy to continue. Charlie's eyes are closed now, his breathing level and matching hers. His warmth feels comfortable in her arms, and she does not want to let him go yet. Abigail, memory of Sammy's compliment still clear in her mind, begins another verse of her song. She is sure she can feel Sammy's same smile watching them both, her singing softly while their son sleeps peacefully in her arms. They are content.


End file.
